


No Rags. Not In This House.

by Shes-claws-deep (CyrilOdahviing)



Series: Flash Sale Nov 2018 [5]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Banter, F/M, Femdom, Ratty clothes do not maketh the man, some nsfw at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 04:47:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17094197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyrilOdahviing/pseuds/Shes-claws-deep
Summary: Wherein Thermite has been hiding a secret from you for as long as you were dating. It's well-loved, thin, and also...very moth-eaten.





	No Rags. Not In This House.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baysian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baysian/gifts).



Ring.

Jordan stirs groggily, his body rising to wakefulness despite his brain lagging behind.

Ring.

Fuck, who is it? He looks over at his alarm clock and notes the time to be 8am.

Ring.

“Coming!” he yells in a gritty voice, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and slipping his feet into well-worn flip-flops. His hand mindlessly tugs at the hem of his moth-eaten shirt, dragging it down his defined abs and brushing down his ratty boxers as though to reassure himself that he did have pants on.

Ri-

“Goddamnit! I’m opening the door already, yeesh!” Yeah, Jordan Trace isn’t the friendliest fellow in the morning. He yanks open the door, snarl on his face, ready to blast the shit out of the poor soul who woke him up when he realises who is staring at him as though he were a headless chicken. “Oh. Babe! The hell’re you doing here?” Though his voice is still rough, his demeanour softens immediately.

You raise a brow and lift the bag of food in your hand. “Um, you asked for a morning call?”

Jordan scratches his head and quickly wracks his brain. Did he? Waaaiiit. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit is right, honey,” you snicker, eyes raking down his less than put together form. “You’re, uh, looking grungy this morning.”

“Yeah yeah.” He waves his hand, opening the door to let you in. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it, though.”

A dare is a dare is a dare, as they say. Jordan was just unfortunate enough to dare you to come to wake him up in the morning. Or rather, he just asked you to give him a wake-up call in case he forgot to get up in time for a meeting at noon. Also, you’ve been dating him for how long? He should know better.

“Now, you know, honey. Don’t bite off more than you can chew with me,” you sing as you put away the takeaway bags on the counter. “Go wash up, sloppy boy. I’ll get your breakfast ready.”

It seems like your instructions must have woken him up a little bit, because he just salutes groggily and mutters, “Yes, boss.” And trundles off to the bathroom, his flip-flops slapping against the parquet flooring comically. With his terrible bedhead, thick beard and that well-loved, stretched shirt and equally worn boxers, Jordan looks unkempt and scruffy and…oddly adorable. If any of his men ever heard you refer to him, the crazy pyromaniac scientist, as adorable, they’d likely cringe themselves to death.

Shaking your head, you turn your attention back to setting out your breakfasts. Bagels, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, a couple of slices of avocado – you don’t even make stuff like this for yourself. But once in a while, it’s nice to treat him when he works so hard; you noticed the brand new burns on his hands again.

Rather than waste your breath on lecturing him on proper lab safety, you just slap the first aid kit on the counter next to the steaming pile of food just as Jordan comes slapping padding out of the bathroom. He yawns widely, his fingers quickly combing his unruly hair into something a little more tamed. His beard looks shorter…but only slightly so. Judging from the time he spent in the bathroom, he probably only had time to brush his teeth and trim his beard just a little. However, he does look more awake than he did before.

“Sorry about that, babe, I honestly forgot that you’re coming over,” he apologises with a sheepish smile, kissing you on the cheek when you tilt your chin up. “Food looks good.”

“Courtesy of the corner store, as always.” You nod to the coffee pot. “Get your own coffee.”

“Yes, boss,” he chirps, a pep in his step now despite still having those awful clothes on him. The sound he makes as he sips on the black brew shouldn’t be arousing, but it is. “Oh, that’s the good stuff.”

Speaking of good stuff…

“I thought you said you got rid of those rags,” you murmur quietly, watching him from over your own mug as he freezes in place. For a good while, sipping is the only thing that can be heard. “Well?”

Jordan clears his throat, his mug slowly rising to cover his face. “I…uh…didn’t?”

The deadpan look on your face makes him wince a little. “Aw come on,” he whines, setting the mug aside so he can stuff some bagel into his face before you wail on him. “They’re comfortable! That’s why I keep ’em!”

“They are ratty. Old. Full of holes. Moth-eaten to the point where a moth wouldn’t eat them anymore!” You reach over to lift his very, very thin shirt. “It looks like it’d dissolve if I looked at it the wrong way.”

He pouts, yet he lets you wring his shirt this way and that, showing how there are a ton of tiny holes dotting the fabric. “They’re my PJs, babe. No one sees them except for me. And you.”

When he says that, you side eye him a little bit. “I’ve never seen these on you. Only in your closet.” Jordan turns pale again. “How long have you been dressing like this without me knowing?” Not like you have anything against well-loved, worn clothes, but these are ridiculous. Honestly, they’re better off as rags than anything.

“Uhhh, do you want an honest answer, or?”

Argh!

“Just…just get rid of them, Jordan. You’ve worn them until they’re…they’re like tissue paper, they’re so thin!” You try to pinch his shirt to show him, but inadvertently rip one of the holes into a larger hole. “And fragile! See?!”

Rather than get upset that you ripped his shirt, Jordan just swallows the remainder of his breakfast and shoots out of the kitchen. “You’ll never take these treasures from me alive! Over my dead body!”

“That can be arranged,” you growl out, stalking after him to the bedroom.

POST CHASE

“How much do you like these clothes?”

Jordan gulps, craning his head down so he can see your hands fisting at the collar of his shirt. “I, uh, I’ve got backups.”

“Good.”

Riiiiip.

His cock jumps in his boxers, standing at attention as you tear off the remnants of the shirt off his body. “Oh god that’s so hot. Why is it so hot.” He looks up at you with dark, dark eyes. “Why are you so hot?”

You smirk, hands going to the equally worn boxers that are far too loose for his body. “Because you like the way I use you.”

Riiiiip.

Well, there goes his boxers. Another gulp. “T-that’s true.”

With a slap, his cock bounces off his belly and throbs in the air, precum already drooling at the tip. Just like the drool threatening to drip out of his mouth.

“Also,” you purr as you lean down over his chest, hands caressing up his wide shoulders, up his bulging biceps, and to his hands where you entwine your fingers with his. “No one can make you beg like I do.”

And then you bite down on his neck right under his ear. The loud, whorish moan that’s ripped out of his should be embarrassing, but to be honest, he doesn’t have the brain to bother about it any longer.


End file.
